When I attended my first funeral, at age 27, I cried a lot, even though I didn’t know the deceased, my sister-in-law’s father. My grandparents all died before I turned 20 and lived 1250 miles away. Living as my family did on a poor college professor’s salary, attending funerals wasn’t going to happen. Add to that my mother’s extreme reluctance to even speak of her own mortality and you have a partial explanation for my absence at prior funerals.

Since death is not something that modern Americans handle well in spite of its prevalence in the media and films – all you need to do is read the classic The American Way of Death Revisited (2000) by Jessica Mitford for proof of that – so you can imagine my shock when we traipsed down to the basement of the church, where long folding tables bowed under the weight of the food brought in by the Church Ladies and others.

People stood around the tables lined up on threadbare gray carpeting, laughing, talking, whispering condolences to the family. Eating potato salads, baked beans, sweet Jell-o salads stuffed with nuts and marshmallows, sliced sweet ham, gooey cakes of every size and shape, and lots of buns, as my mother-in-law called dinner rolls. Southern funerals add such dishes as macaroni and cheese, fried chicken, and pimento cheese sandwiches.

It was not until I had several more funerals under my belt that I finally could see the importance of these affairs. In the not-so-distant past, the feasts symbolized hope for the future, a time for the heir to be presented formally to the community, calculating the effects of passing the torch, so to speak, the relentless flow of time, the cycle of life starting over again.

To you from failing hands we throw The torch; be yours to hold it high.
~ Lt. Colonel John McCrae, “In Flanders Fields”

Funeral feasts reinforce the community’s sense of tribe, too. Like births, deaths remind people of their ties to each other. A lot of the success of archaeology centers around the presence of grave offerings. Early humans buried numerous things with their dead, including food. For example, The Vikings* and Egyptians left tremendous numbers of items in the graves of their loved ones and of their rulers, allowing archaeologists and historians valuable insights into cultural practices on many different levels. With the coming of Christianity, this practice came to an end, grave goods becoming more external in the form of grave stones and markers. And the food was for the living, not the dead.

The food, it seems, brings about a transition for the mourners.

Eating celebrates life. There’s a certain relief, is there not, that you can still eat, that you’ve gone to Samarra and Death did not find you there after all, although in your heart you know that one day people will gather because of you.

Breaking bread in celebration. Of lives well lived.

When for the last time You close your mouth, Your words and soul Will belong to the world of No place, no time.

Note: I wrote this post in memory of my dear brother-in-law, Barry Bertelsen, who passed away on March 7, 2013, of virulent small-cell lung cancer. Barry dedicated his life to helping the people of his community and will be desperately missed by his close-knit family. He lived the last year of his life knowing that each day was a gift, even if it was not a particularly great day. By his example, he taught all of us what it is to live life as if each day were the last. And he showed us how to die with dignity and full awareness of our mortality. Go in peace, Barry, we will miss you terribly.

More to Think About

Although these books seem irreverent, it seems to be a human trait to thumb one’s nose at Death and mock it:

I am proud to be a “church lady” and providing part of the food after a funeral and maybe presiding over the coffee urn. When I see people reminiscing and bonding over a plate of home-cooked or baked food, I feel like we are ministering to the grieving family and friends. I’ve appreciated it as a recipient, and it is a way of giving comfort back. It also makes me get out the silver polish and do a tray or two– woe betide the church lady who shows a bit of tarnish….

Strangely I associate funeral food with the whole concept of sin eating which may or may not be in reality linked. I grew up with going to funerals…not only in my family but since almost my entire family were linked to Masons and the Eastern Star, it was required. With them came the neighborly act of taking a casserole to share in the family grief. (not to mention those social dinners as well.) When young I saw a show on a Sin Eater and it became linked in my mind. Thanks for your excellent and thoughtful piece.

Yes, suffering people usually don’t call, you’re absolutely right – it’s a cop out to say “Call me if you need anything.” The last thing people in that situation need is to have to initiate things themselves when all their energy is being spent just trying to stay in one piece. Of course, they need something, and I like your suggestions of how to keep people involved with others when they are suffering. Thanks, Beth!

It’s funny how you never think about funeral food until, of course you are there. Everyone wants to help the survivors in their time of sorrow. You can’t absorb their pain but you can make your favorite apple crisp and offer the sweetness along with a hug. And certainly the trite expression, “call me if you need anything,” is so silly. You call them a week later and offer to take them out to a movie, or join them for a walk, or send them a sweet note, followed by another note a few weeks later. Your quotes were perfect Cindy and food for thought. Thanks for the words and my sympathy to you for your loss of a dear man.